


Pretty

by apollosmortalangst (orphan_account)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and then annabeth and kayla and hazel once, but this is really just the two dorky dorks being in love, from the perspective of our favorite blond sunshine, oh yeah percy is mentioned like twice, potential burning maze spoilers, thats all this is, with like point two seconds of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/apollosmortalangst
Summary: The problem with realizing that Nico di Angelo is unquestionably the prettiest person at camp is that it's impossible to forget, so every time Will looks at him it's like he's being sucker-punched. Nico di Angelo is so pretty that it physically hurts to look at him, especially when he's sitting right there beside him with the clipboard, oblivious to the fact that Will is staring, and staring, and staring, because Nico keeps pressing the pen to his lips and every time it goes click Will's heart goes thump. It's a painful sensation, and Will wonders if it's possible for someone to be so pretty that it actually kills you.He thinks if it is, Nico di Angelo is going to be the death of him.





	Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first work posted on ao3 (it was originally posted on my wattpad, under the same user as this one) and I'm having a bit of a difficult time figuring out how exactly ao3 does things, so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you enjoy ((:

They're standing in front of the Apollo cabin the first time Will thinks it.

He's there in front of him, and he looks too thin and too pale and far, far too sad—Will can see it in his eyes, in the way he carries himself, remembers the way he almost threw himself away like he didn't even  _matter_ on Half-Blood Hill—and Will feels something inside himself kickstarting, coming to life in his veins, causing all the air to leave his lungs in a single breath.

He's not the definition of  _attractive_ , not the way the Aphrodite kids would define it, at least. But he's looking up at Will with a brightness in his eyes, the first hints of hope that he's let himself feel in a long time, Will thinks, and when he says: " _I—I suppose that would be okay_ ," the corners of his mouth turn up just the slightest bit, just enough for Will to notice.

He excuses himself and Will watches as he walks away, watches him as he speaks to Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, watches as he walks back and now he really  _is_  smiling, he's glowing, he's  _radiant_. Will's breath catches in his throat, and he's saying "I'm ready now _,_ " like he doesn't even notice how Will isn't breathing and they're starting for the infirmary and Will looks at him and thinks it, he thinks:  _No one can possibly be this pretty_  and once the thought is there, it doesn't leave.

Will's next thought is that he is so,  _so_  screwed.

*

They're in the infirmary the first time he wants to actually say it out loud.

The problem with realizing that Nico di Angelo is unquestionably the prettiest person at camp is that it's impossible to forget, so every time Will looks at him it's like he's being sucker-punched. Nico di Angelo is so pretty that it physically  _hurts_  to look at him, especially when he's sitting right there beside him with the clipboard, oblivious to the fact that Will is staring, and staring,  _and staring_ , because Nico keeps pressing the pen to his lips and every time it goes  _click_  Will's heart goes  _thump._ It's a painful sensation, and Will wonders if it's possible for someone to be so pretty that it actually kills you.

He thinks if it is, Nico di Angelo is going to be the death of him.

Nico looks up, then, dark eyes alight with the faintest hint of curiosity. "What?" he says, then, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Will wants to say it: the words press against his throat, make his tongue feel heavy. He thinks if he just tells him, maybe his heart will stop trying to slam through his ribcage in a way that would result in his violent demise.

But then he looks at Nico, at the way the dark circles beneath his eyes are only just starting to disappear, and he thinks of how hard of a battle it's been for him every day since he decided to stay, and he remembers the way Nico had stumbled over his words when he recounted the story with Cupid for him and he thinks:  _Not yet_.

It's too soon, he reminds himself: Nico is still so new to the whole  _friendship_  thing, and he's had such bad experience with love in the past—he remembers the Cupid story again and his heart clenches—and Will is not,  _not_  going to mess this up. Not for himself, and more importantly, not for Nico. They're young, and Will's in no hurry. He can wait.

So he takes the clipboard from Nico and smiles, and he says, "No reason. Just lost in thought, I guess."

Nico shakes his head, then smiles one of those small, secret smiles that he only ever lets a few people see; Will is in awe of the fact that after only a few months, he's one of them. It makes his chest  _ache_ , and he thinks:  _It's not fair_. Nico is so pretty that he's  _sure_  it's going to kill him.

But, he thinks, if that's how it is, then it's not such a terrible way to go. He'll die a thousand times if it means getting to see Nico smile like that again.

*

It isn't long after they start dating that Will tells him,  _finally_. He's a fidgeting, blushing mess and Nico is giving him one of his half-confused, half- _Will-why-are-you-so-stupid_  looks, the proffered s'more hanging between them forgotten. The fire behind him flashes bright orange and casts half of his face in light, and he has a bit of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, and he's so,  _so_  pretty, and Will thinks if he doesn't say it now he'll actually combust:

" _Ithinkyou'rereallypretty_ ," he rushes out, breathless for some reason; Nico blinks at him.

"What?"

Will's cheeks turn a darker red—he feels like he's on fire. But he's not on the edge of exploding anymore, which is good. "I said I—I think you're really pretty."

"Oh." Nico's cheeks redden then, too; Will thinks it's really unfair how cute it makes him look. Nico looks away, and Will reaches out, hand hovering in the space between them.

He starts, hesitantly, "Nico, can I—" But Nico is one step ahead of him and turns back to face him, reaches out with the hand not holding the s'more, and wraps his arm around Will's neck. He kisses him, slow and soft and tasting like chocolate, and somewhere in the background he hears Austin whistling and Kayla laughing, but the only thing on his mind is Nico, Nico and Nico and  _Nico_.

He pulls away and his face is red enough that it would put a tomato to shame, and he buries his face in Will's shoulder until the color fades. Part of Will wishes he wouldn't, wishes that he could stare at the pretty stain on Nico's cheeks until it disappears, but the larger part of him is bursting with happiness because Nico is  _so close_ , and he finally takes the s'more Nico had offered him. It's a bit cool but still good, the taste sweet on his tongue.

(Not as sweet as Nico's lips had been against his, though.)  


*

"You don't have to keep saying that, you know. I know I'm really not."

Nico's staring at his feet, which are bare and just skimming the top of the lake. Will shifts to face him, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Pretty," Nico says carefully. "I'm not. It's okay, I—" he hesitates, "I know what I look like. I mean, obviously. Death isn't pretty, you know? So you don't have to keep saying it."

"Nico." Will takes Nico's hands, laces their fingers. His frown deepens, though, as he looks at him. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Nico automatically scowls at the insult, but it quickly transitions into confusion. "What is?"

"You do know why I stare at you all the time, right?" Then Will answers himself: "Well, evidently  _not_ , seeing as we're having this conversation. Nico, have I ever lied to you?"

"Well, yeah," Nico raises an eyebrow. "Just this morning, I said 'Will, did you steal a piece of my french toast when I went to the bathroom,' and you said, 'No, what are you talking about,' and I said 'I can tell you did, you suck at lying' and  _you_  said—"

"Yes, exactly," Will nods emphatically, cutting him off. "I  _do_  suck at lying. It's an Apollo thing, you know—all of us Apollo kids do, since he's the god of truth and all."

Nico frowns at him. "So what's your point?"

"My  _point_ ," Will leans forward, so that his nose almost touches Nico's. "Any of the times I've told you you're pretty, has it ever been evident in any way that I'm lying?"

Nico hesitates. "Well, I don't—"

"You're pretty," he interrupts again. Nico's breath ghosts over his face, his eyes wide and dark as he stares at him. "You're  _so_  pretty—you're like, the prettiest person in the whole universe and every time I look at you I can't even  _breathe_.  _No one_  is as pretty as you are. Do you believe me now?"

Nico's face is turning light pink, matching the sky above them. "You know if any of the Aphrodite kids heard you say that, they'd shove you into the lake."

"Who cares?" Will says. "That wouldn't stop me from being right." He kisses the tip of Nico's nose, and when he pulls back he can tell, he can see the edges of Nico's lips twitching. He looks away from him then and Will  _knows_  Nico is smiling, and he thinks he's made Nico believe it.

Even if he hasn't, though, it's okay. He'll keep telling him, he'll tell him every day until he finally does, and even  _then_  he'll keep telling Nico because it's the truth: it's the most important truth Will knows.

*

It's weeks of Nico pushing him away and putting so much distance between them that it feels like a tangible, impenetrable thing, weeks of Will digging in his heels and refusing to budge, and it feels like a stalemate, almost, like standing on opposite sides of the same unclimbable wall, before Nico finally begins to tear it back down.

He comes to him in the middle of the night, standing in the doorway of the infirmary in his pajamas, too pale and too thin and with dark rings under his eyes. His eyes are red, the skin around them puffy, and it's only a second after Will looks up at him that he breaks.

"I'm sorry," he's saying, and then again,  _I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry,_ and his face, oh gods, his face begins to crumble and this—this isn't acceptable. Will is on his feet, crossing the room to him and wrapping him in his arms tightly the way he's wanted to do desperately these past few weeks since the funeral, the way Nico has refused to let him, to let anyone. But now Nico is shaking and he grips Will so tightly, like his legs would give out if he didn't, and he buries his face in Will's neck and  _sobs_ , each sound that wrenches from his throat tearing at Will's heart. But Will doesn't try to shush him, doesn't tell him that everything is okay, because everything  _isn't_ , and this—falling apart, letting himself go through the grief and the anger and the pain that he's been trying to block out and hide from—is the only way that he can begin to get past it.

Nico's legs finally do give out, and Will sinks with him to the floor, holding on tightly, refusing to loosen his grip. By now the sobs have died down to sniffles, and Nico takes in a few hiccuping breaths before he speaks.

"I never wanted to push you away," he says, so quietly it's almost a whisper. "But I don't know what else to do."

Will nods, because he knows this, he understands. He stays quiet for a beat. And then he says, "I know. I know it's hard. There've been times when I wanted to push people away, too."

Nico sniffles, gripping his arms tighter around Will's neck. "It's just so . . . so  _hard_ , you know? I keep . . . I keep losing people." His voice is small. "He was my best friend."

"I know." Will says again. He rests his head on top of Nico's, closes his eyes, feels Nico's warm breaths puff against his neck. He feels drained, and he hates,  _hates_  how there's nothing he can do to make this situation even a little bit better.

"I wouldn't even be here without him. I think that's part of why it hurts so much. It feels like a betrayal." Nico shifts back a bit so that he can look at Will, and his eyes are even more red than before, and his cheeks are tear-stained. Will reaches up to swipe them away and Nico leans into his touch, and Will's heart clenches, because how is it possible that even when he looks like this much of a mess, he still manages to be so pretty that Will can barely think about anything else?

Still, the part of himself that he manages to keep focused asks: "A betrayal to you?"

"Yeah. But part of me . . ." Nico hesitates. "I feel like I've been betraying him. He made me promise, you know, when we first became friends, that I would try not to push people out when things get hard. I feel like he'd be disappointed."

Will shakes his head. "He wouldn't be."

Nico shrugs, sniffing again. His lips twitch up in a sad attempt at a smile. "Maybe. He did seem to have inexplicable faith in everyone." He fidgets on Will's lap, and then pauses. "Sorry. Are you uncomfortable?"

Will's left foot  _is_  starting to lose feeling, but he's not going to tell Nico that. "No."

Nico smiles a little though, because he can always tell. "You're such a bad liar." He leans forward, lips brushing against Will's slightly when he adds, voice detectably lower, "But you're  _so_  good to me. Thank you."

Will tilts his head a little. "For what?"

"For  _being_  here. I know I would have given up on me weeks ago. But you're still here."

"Of course I am. I never give up on the people I love. Especially you." It takes a moment for Will to process what he's said—because he's thought it so many times now that it falls naturally from his lips; he doesn't even realize that this is the first time he's ever said them  _out loud_ —and then Nico's eyes are widening and Will swears under his breath when it clicks. "I didn't mean—I mean, I  _did_ , but I hope you know I didn't mean to tell you right now," he babbles, trying to backtrack but knowing how miserably he's failing. Nico's lips are beginning to curve up though, and Will trails off mid-sentence, breath hitching. Nico's lips are one of Will's favorite things about him; an entire subcategory of  _pretty_  all on their own, thin and pink and far,  _far_  too distracting.

And soft, he remembers, when Nico closes the small distance between them, smiling so hard that he almost can't kiss him properly. Will kind of forgets everything for a moment, because he tends to do that when Nico kisses him, but then Nico's hand is sliding to cup the back of his head and he's shifting and Will can  _finally_  move his foot, and then they're falling backward and Nico's hand barely cushions his head when he hits the floor.

"Ow," he mumbles; he opens his eyes and Nico is staring down at him, eyes bright. "Sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound very apologetic, and then he's leaning down again and Will tangles his hand in Nico's hair and can't remember what Nico has to be sorry for, anyway.

*

Will thinks it's a little bit crazy, how he can love just one person so much that it takes over his whole being like this:

 _Here_ , Nico smiling at him over a cup of coffee in the infirmary, the sun just beginning to rise outside, Will's heart leaps. And  _here_ , Nico comforting one of his little siblings in the middle of the night after a nightmare, soothing and singing soft lullabies in Italian until the sniffles cease, Will feels a lump form in the back of his throat. Here is Nico's hand on Will's knee under the table during camp meetings at the Big House, here is Nico falling asleep on his shoulder by the campfire, here is Nico playing the piano in the music room, his fingers flitting over the keys and igniting the butterflies in Will's stomach.

And here, here,  _here_  is Nico wearing his Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt with the number seven and his name,  _Solace_ , on the back, its sleeves too long and falling well past his fingertips. Orange is a hard color to pull off, but Nico makes it work far better than Will when he wears it, and he looks so beautiful that it's hard to think, and for some strange reason Will feels like crying.

Kayla clears her throat loudly from beside him, eyebrows raised when Will manages to momentarily pull his gaze away from where his boyfriend sits across the dining hall with Percy Jackson. "Would you  _please_  stop staring so soppily at him when children are around? For goddesses' sakes, Will, control yourself."

"No, I—you don't understand." Will's eyes travel back to Nico, the way they always inevitably do. It's like Nico's a magnet. "He's just . . . so pretty."

Kayla rolls her eyes. "Yeah,  _we know_. You say that,  _all the time_. But please, I'm about to vomit."

"I don't get it. What's so disgusting about me being in love with my boyfriend?"

"What's  _disgusting_  is  _love_ ,  _period_. Ugh." Kayla scrunches her nose in distaste. Will hums, already distracted again. Nico is waving his hands around as he speaks in wide, swooping gestures and as he does, the sleeves of Will's sweatshirt flop around his face, and Will's heart does a flop of its own.

Later, when they're saying goodnight on the porch of the Hades cabin, Will's mouth works without his mind's permission. "I really,  _really_  like you in my clothes," he blurts, because really, he has no filter, and besides, it's just not  _fair_  that Nico gets to do this to him without even knowing it.

Nico stops in the middle of his sentence, nose scrunching as he looks at him. Will almost  _dies_ , it's so cute. "What?"

"I mean—" Will is blushing. "You just. Whenever you wear that sweatshirt I, um. You're just really pretty, and cute, and gods, I love you  _so much_ , and—"

Nico rolls his eyes, but he's starting to grin. "You're such a dork, you know that?" he says. He stretches up on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to the corner of Will's mouth. "Good night, Solace."

Will never thinks it's possible to love Nico more than he does already, but as he watches Nico turn and disappear into his cabin, he feels the warmth in his chest grow just a little bit more.

*

The longer they're together, the more impossible it becomes. They grow, and day by day Nico becomes more and more beautiful, and Will falls harder and  _harder_.

Summer comes and Nico's skin darkens to the pretty olive that Will had known was just waiting to make its appearance, and yet the change still takes his breath away. Not to say Nico was any less beautiful when his skin was paler than a vampire's, but, well—sun just  _suits_  him, Will finds it impossible to describe, really.

By their one-year-anniversary, Nico's legs aren't quite as long as Will's, but they're getting there. He's tall enough that he doesn't have to stand on the tips of his toes when they kiss anymore.

Hazel comes during that spring and insists that Nico get a haircut, and Will's heart stops when he sees him because he hadn't known that when it's short, his hair  _curls_.

And as if these changes weren't enough, every day Nico's smiles grow infinitely brighter, his eyes lighter. More campers start noticing, nudging each other when he passes them on the green, and now whenever Nico and Percy decide to spar, Percy isn't the  _only_  reason why the masses flock to watch. Sometimes it grates on Will's nerves a little too much, and he'll grab Nico's hand and glare at the passersby when they're walking, or he'll go up to Nico after he or Percy has disarmed the other and kiss him full on the mouth before handing him his water bottle to make his point.

But he's never jealous, not really. He knows that people can't  _help it_ , honestly, because Nico is the kind of beautiful that refuses to be ignored—trying to deny it only makes it that much more impossible.

And besides, Will knows he's the only one that ever gets to see him like  _this_.

"Will," Nico is mumbling, long lashes fluttering when he opens his eyes to give Will one of his most annoyed glares. His words come out a little breathy, and his skin is flushed a flattering shade of pink, and his lips are red and swollen the way they only ever are during and after their most intense makeout sessions. "Quit it."

"Quit what?" Will's voice is a huff, but he's well aware of what Nico's talking about—he can feel the way his hands are shaking, knows he's been distracting himself to keep the nerves at bay. Nico makes an irritated little sound, his hands moving from Will's bare sides to his shoulders. He looks up at him and his gaze softens just a bit.

"Overthinking. It's making you nervous, and if you don't stop, you're going to make  _me_  nervous."

Will breathes in deeply, closes his eyes. "You're not nervous?"

"Of course I am. But we've waited far too long for this to psych ourselves out now." Nico leans up, lips brushing over Will's as he whispers: "Don't think so much. There's nothing to worry about. I promise."

Will opens his eyes and Nico is  _right there_ , his own eyes bright in the mostly-darkness of the cabin, and he's trusting and caring and open and waiting and he's  _so_  pretty that it takes Will's breath away, just like always.

So he kisses him, and this time he gives Nico everything—thinking about nothing  _but_  Nico, pouring all of the emotions he feels whenever he looks at him into it—because that's what Nico deserves. And Nico gives it all back to him with just as much ardor, all heat and fire and yet still so, so gentle, and Will spares a moment to wonder  _how_  it is that they ended up like this, how it is that by some miracle they found each other that day on Half-Blood Hill, and he thanks the fates, or the gods, or  _whoever_  it was that led them to each other, to this moment, because this— _him and Nico, Nico and him_ —is the reason why he's  _alive_.

There comes a point where Nico has his head tipped back to the headboard, eyes half-closed and mouth wide open as he works to get his breathing under control; he opens his eyes all the way when Will stops and just looks at him for a moment. "What?" he says, voice barely a breath, cheeks flushed: painfully, incomprehensibly  _beautiful_. "Why'd you stop?"

"It's just," Will struggles to remember how to think, how to verbalize his thoughts. "Have I told you already how pretty you are?"

It used to be that whenever he told him that, Nico would blush, or look away. After that, it was the disbelieving looks, the eye-rolling, the inability to believe that Will could possibly think that about him, that it could be  _true_. And then, much later, it was the newfound confidence, saying  _I know_  with a smirk that Will almost always made a mission to kiss immediately, telling Will that  _you're not so bad yourself, Solace_.

Now, there's none of that. Now, Nico only smiles. "You have." Then he closes his eyes, tipping his head further back, and Will traces the smooth line of his throat as he says: "But tell me again."

So Will does.

*

Once upon a time, Will Solace believed that eventually, his boyfriend's beauty would stop affecting him so deeply. That he'd grow accustomed to it, that his heart would get used to the curves of Nico's smiles and the softness of his skin, the brightness of his eyes and the inky darkness of his hair, a thousand other things, and finally give Will a  _rest_.

Surely, he had thought, his heart could only take so much. Surely if things kept along this same path, it would eventually lose strength and give out.

But that was then, when he hadn't quite understood the intensity of love, of how it made your heart  _stronger_  instead of weaker, of how it could push you past limits you thought insurmountable, pressing and pulling and tugging in all sorts of ways that weren't even the  _least_  comprehensible, but somehow beautiful in their mystery.

Nico's beauty, Will finds himself thinking often now, will always be a mystery. Will's not sure how it's possible—knows it  _shouldn't be—_ but here he is, the brightest part of Will's life, and every day he seems to just get prettier, and prettier, and  _prettier_. Even the slightest twitch of his little finger is a piece of art that Will wants to frame and hang up for everyone to see, because really, everyone should  _know_ , everyone should look at Nico and know that there is no one else like him, that no one else  _ever will be_ like him, that Nico is a living, breathing, invaluable and irreplaceable  _masterpiece_.

He tells Nico this, sometimes, in the quietest moments when the space between them is safest in its vulnerability. They'll be dancing to no music in the infirmary late at night, or they'll be holding onto each other after nightmares, or they'll be walking along the beach hand-in-hand, and Will will just feel the sudden and irrepressible  _need_  to tell him, to let Nico know everything Will thinks and knows about him, because maybe the entire world will never understand or comprehend it in its entirety, but Nico  _has_  to know, has to  _get it_. Will doesn't know what any of it means if Nico  _doesn't_.

Sometimes when Will tells him, it seems like Nico still doesn't. He'll look to the side and try to hide his blush when they're dancing, or he'll grip his shoulders tightly and insist he's  _not,_ he's _really not_ after nightmares, or he'll stare out across the Sound and stay silent for a very long time when they're on the beach. Sometimes Will doesn't know what Nico is thinking. But then, he knows that sometimes  _Nico_  doesn't know what he is thinking. And it's okay.

It's all okay, really, because later he'll snap out of his thoughts, will smile and tangle their fingers between them and insist:  _You're pretty too, Solace_ , and it's the  _too_  that Will notes every time, because it's the acknowledgment, it's Nico  _believing_  it.

He's fine if no one else believes it, as long as Nico does.

He remembers the first time, thinking it in the aftermath of chaos, when thoughts like that should be farthest from a person's mind. He thinks their love was maybe born out of that chaos, that swirling, dizzying uncertainty, but then he thinks maybe it doesn't matter  _where_  it all started, as long as this is where it brought them.

Will Solace thinks Nico di Angelo is the prettiest person he's ever seen. He  _knows_  this; he also knows that he always will be.

(Because he knows, too, that if they're following a trend here, Nico is only going to grow more and more beautiful with every passing day. And he plans to keep Nico around for a very, very long time.)


End file.
